I’ve never been good at Poker.
For starters, the suite cards always confused me.
Secondly, I don’t have a good Poker face.
My emotions are scrawled up and down my face like a billboard in Times Square.
I’ve always been upfront with how I feel. If I’m angry – there’s no doubt I’ll tell you.
I adopted the “if my grief makes you uncomfortable – that’s your problem” mantra months ago.
I don’t have time for people who are inconvenienced by my grief.
Don’t they know I’m inconvenienced by my grief more so?
Having “grief bursts” because someone asked something innocuous are not my idea of a good time, either.
The synapses in my brain just go and go.
Something silly can remind me of something, remind me of something else, then something else.
Before I know it, I’m on the sofa in a puddle of tears because of a grocery store commercial.
It’s never about the grocery store commercial.
Bill and I decided to talk to a reporter about losing Wilson. The story ran in December.
Since the story ran, I’ve decided to live my life as transparent as possible. It also leaves me open for unsolicited advice and well-meaning people who just say the wrong things.
Last night, for example, I swear I think my friend was drunk!
Rough day Sunday. I feel like I have a grief hangover.
What I thought would be a well-meaning, polite “cheer up.” Turn into a “girl, you just need to face it: Your baby boy is with God. You need to have another baby. You also need to just go into the woods and scream.”
I’ve known my friend for a very long time, so I tempered my comment.
He pushed and pushed.
Finally I said, “Look, I know you are coming from a pure heart, but your words are not comforting. What I really need to hear are the following, ‘I’m here for you,’ ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m sorry.'”
I’ve been told my anger issues are completely normal.
Bill warned me last night that we need to start working through the anger.
My anger has become a comfortable sweater. Sooner or later I will have to shed it – it is summer after all.